


Homecoming

by Ganelon8



Series: Stalemate [2]
Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Crying, F/M, Feelings, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Missing Scene, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26169502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ganelon8/pseuds/Ganelon8
Summary: After being nearly killed by Marthe in France, Danny makes his way back to Scotland, knowing that he will be too late for whatever has unfolded. There is one person in particular he is worried about.
Relationships: Adam Blacklock/Kate Somerville, Francis Crawford of Lymond and Sevigny/Philippa Somerville, Jerott Blyth/Danny Hislop, Jerott Blyth/Marthe (Lymond Chronicles)
Series: Stalemate [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900384
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently I am writing more about Danny since I have not been able to stop wondering what has happened to him after Checkmate. The series name comes from that I intend to write about the characters who were left sad at the end of the series, since it seemed vaguely appropriate. I am also too intimidated to ever try writing Lymond himself, so have again avoided having him appear directly.
> 
> The first time I read the Ringed Castle I was dead convinced Danny was the traitor, and still didn’t trust him in Checkmate. On the reread, though, I loved him and I would’ve loved to know if he ever did meet up with Jerott again, since we never see him after Marthe stabs him. I have a lot of feelings, and comments and feedback are all very appreciated <3

Danny’s wound was still aching when he disembarked from the ship, swaying as he walked from so long at sea, breathing in the familiar air at the docks, salty from the nearness to the ocean yet still the familiar crisp air of springtime in Scotland. After so long away, he was back.

The accents were painfully familiar, and it was easy enough to switch away from French, even though that was what he had spoken mainly for the last two years. Before that it had been Russian, and other languages. A mercenary had to be able to speak to many people, which was a little ironic since their job was often to kill. Nonetheless, Danny spoke many tongues well enough, and this one felt familiar enough in his mouth.

He knew that whatever altercation Marthe had been on her way back to cause with her half brother, Lymond, would have already happened. Whatever her business was, and Danny had a fairly good idea of what it might be, it had been important enough for her to stab him before making her getaway.

Danny hadn’t trusted her, so did wear a mail shirt under his fine silk doublet. It had still hurt like the devil.

Rather than wait for a cart, Danny spent a little too much of his dwindling coin on a horse and rode inland. He had never been to the family home of Lymond, where his brother Richard and mother Sybilla kept themselves for the most part, except when they were presumed dead in the seas off France. This was a family that had dramatics in their blood, and now Danny was cursing them for it under his breath. Richard was the only one of the lot who seemed sensible, who seemed as though they weren’t constantly weaving plot after plot into a tapestry that manipulated everyone around them into the precise position the Crawford in question wanted. Though, from what he had heard of Richard, he had been prone to dramatics as well a good ten years past, when Lymond had first returned from exile.

And so, with the rumors of the brothers and their mother and their half sister floating in his mind, Danny crossed through the tall pines and deep ravines. Flowers had crept from their sleep out into the open, but still hid themselves away in the night. There were patches of snow crouched in the shadows still, and frost on his cloak every morning which he laid over himself for this purpose. He had no one but his horse for company, passing not even a farmer.

When the grey keep finally came into view on the horizon, Danny felt a sinking in his stomach and nudged his horse onward. One way or another, this had come to a close.

The first people he knew that he ran across were Adam and Kate. Adam Blacklock he recognized easy enough, but it took a moment longer to place Kate Somerville. Her brown hair was tied back, and there were still crinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth, but they looked fresh from the smile on her pink lips even now. She had on a dress which she and Philippa would doubtless call sensible, over which she had a mostly clean apron with herbs poking out of the pockets. She and Adam were sat together on a blanket which had been spread out under a tree, with a basket and a luncheon spread out between them. She had noticed Danny first, and it was because Adam was staring at her with the gentlest smile Danny had ever seen on that man’s face.

“Danny Hislop!” Kate called, waving a hand.

Danny waved back and dismounted. He had only met Kate in passing, but was flattered she remembered him, so offered his best bow and smile. “Mistress Somerville, how good to see you! And Adam, I’m glad you’re well.”

“We’re glad you’re well, too, Danny,” Adam said, as they both stood up. There was a frown on Adam’s face, which had seemed impossible a moment earlier. Truly, whatever he and Kate seemed to have cultivated between them suited him far better than mercenary work. “I had heard that you might have been injured…”

“Nothing fatal, as you can see,” Danny said with a grin, far heartier than he felt.

From the moment of silence that passed, he realized he must have said the wrong thing.

“Is…” Danny began, then tried again. “Has anything happened to…” Lymond was the obvious ask, or else Marthe. He wanted to ask about Jerott, but he also wanted to know if Philippa was unharmed, so he settled for her since Kate was here. “Is Philippa alright?”

“Philippa is alright, she’s, she’s more than alright,” Kate said. She took Danny’s hand, very carefully, and drew him over to the blanket where she had sat with Adam. “You may want to sit down, Danny. Quite a lot has happened.”

So Danny nodded and sat with them as she bade. Adam gave him something to drink, and Danny was more grateful for something to hold onto than anything else.

Marthe was dead, and for long moments everyone had thought that Lymond was the one who had been slain by Austin Grey. He had never been able to take Philippa’s no for a no, but had killed the wrong sibling. Philippa had for those long moments been devastated, but now, now she and Lymond were living together as spouses, as they had been in name for so long. And of the letters that Marthe had brought with her, only Sybilla knew what had happened to them.

Danny was quiet for a moment after they had finished telling him. “I am terribly glad for Philippa,” he said. “She deserves the world, and is far better than the comte, though I’m sure you’ve both told her that already.”

Kate and Adam both smiled at that. “I had never thought to see them together, but they are so very happy,” Kate said.

“And, it seems you two are very happy as well,” Danny said, trying not to look too interested.

Adam was the one who blushed at that, which was very interesting. He said, as he took Kate’s hand, “We are.”

Danny smiled, and finally took a drink. He hadn’t eaten yet that day, and he could feel his right leg begin to tap. There was still one person he hadn’t asked about, but he couldn’t just yet. So he asked instead where Marthe was buried, and promised himself he would go visit her in the Crawford family crypt if only to show off that he hadn’t died and to wish her some sort of peace. Philippa and Lymond had entered into their honeymoon state, just as Kate and Adam had finally begun officially courting.

“How has Jerott been?” Danny said, after there was no longer that he could put off asking.

Adam knew Jerott far better than Kate did, and his face fell, his scar tugging his whole expression downward. “He’s been,” Adam said, and hesitated. “Well. Losing Marthe was a lot. He’s been upset.”

Danny nodded, since that was to be expected. Jerott and Marthe had been long estranged, each marrying the other because they resembled someone who they truly loved and could not marry. Jerott had still hoped that they might be reconciled, but that was not to be. “Has he started drinking again?”

“He hasn’t, though not completely of his own will,” Adam said. “He’s been staying with Lady Sybilla and her family, and she’s made sure there’s never a drop out. He was asking about you the other day. Jerott, that is.”

“He did?” Danny said, stupidly brightening, trying not to let the immediate interest be too apparent.

“Jerott was talking of heading back to Malta and rejoining the knights,” Adam said. “He had talked to you about Malta before and was hoping you’d go with him.”

Danny let himself sag a bit, since that was a tad disappointing. He was interested in the Knights of St John because Jerott was one, not because he wanted to be some sainted warrior. He was very interested in Jerott, truth be told, and had been for a while. Jerott had been very interested in his wife, even if it were mixed up in his interest in Francis Lymond. It was stupid to think that Jerott might have turned around so very quickly. He would be mourning, and would be for a while. Danny had no interest in becoming one of those knights himself, sworn to virtue and honor and chastity. Though, he doubted if the vow of chastity was really upheld all that much. Jerott had upheld it for a long time, even through falling in love a few times, until Marthe if Danny had followed the snippets he had heard correctly.

It was easy to promise himself that he wouldn’t tell Jerott that Marthe had tried to kill him in France the last time they spoke.

“I think I might go see Jerott,” Danny said, standing up.

“Do you want anything to eat before you go?” Kate said.

“Thank you, Mistress Somerville, but I will pass,” Danny said.

“Please, call me Kate,” she said with a smile.

So Danny smiled back and agreed, before mounting his horse again and riding off. Kate and Adam had been picnicking on the grounds, so it wasn’t far for Danny to reach the keep. There was a steward who took his horse to be brushed, watered, and fed, and another asking if he wanted a bath himself. Danny knew he must stink, but he refused. He was unable to refuse, though, an invitation to meet with Sybilla.

He found himself sitting with her a few moments later, with a board filled with bread and cheese and meat and fruit between them and a goblet of water at his side. Sybilla looked the same as the few times Danny had seen her before: a petite woman with neat white hair, deep wrinkles, rich dress, and eyes as intelligent as the cornflower blue of Lymond’s.

“Thank you for having me here, my lady,” Danny said.

“You must be hungry after your journey,” Sybilla said, raising an eyebrow. 

Danny took that as the invitation it was, but still said, “I am very glad that your son is unharmed, my lady.”

“As am I. But, do I guess correctly in that your last meeting with Mistress Marthe had not gone as well?” Sybilla said.

She had as much control over her expressions as Lymond, and played her cards just as close to her chest, though she was just as deadly when she wished to be.

“You are correct,” Danny said, after swallowing a mouthful of bread without chewing. “I also believe that she had some letters with her that were of some import.”

“Do not worry,” Sybilla said, “they reached their intended recipients.”

Danny took a moment to process that as he ate a little more. “My lady,” he said after a moment, “I am very grateful that you’re feeding me. And grateful you have had me here this long. But, I came here not for the comte, which surprises me as well, nor dear Philippa, nor for some revenge on the late Marthe. Do you know, that is to say, would Jerott be willing to see me, do you think?”

“I think he would,” Sybilla said. “He was asking about you the other day.”

“I ran into Kate and Adam on my way here and they said something similar,” Danny said. He looked down into his lap for a moment. “I really don’t know how else this might have ended. I had no wish to see Lymond hurt, believe me madam, but nor am I glad for what this has caused Jerott. And as much as Marthe and I did not get along, and as much as she might have wished me dead in the end, I would not have wished this for her either.”

He heard a little sigh from Sybilla, but did not look up. “That Francis is well I am so dearly happy,” she said. “The price to get here as not been small.”

That was an understatement, but she was Lymond’s mother, and clearly loved him, so Danny said nothing further. His own mother had died when he was an infant, and from what he knew of Marthe, she too never had this kind of support. It was a little unfamiliar to him, but he still wished them all the best.

Danny answered Sybilla’s other questions as best he could and ate a little more. He turned down the offer of a bath and a change of clothes, but did accept her offer of hospitality and agree to bathe after he had seen Jerott. She also knew precisely where he was at the moment, which was really just to be expected with Lymond’s mother.

The halls of the keep felt thick with the ghosts of the past. Perhaps Danny just wasn’t used to how the lords and ladies lived, but this place felt inhabited by more than just the living Crawfords. He passed a few servants who he nodded to, but didn’t see Philippa or Lymond. He wasn’t sure what he would say to either of them just yet.

There was a little courtyard off near some gardens, which looked as though they were mostly herbs and vegetables rather than flowers. Danny cut through there on his way to the family crypt and graveyard, picking up some fragrant lavender and lemon balm along the way.

It wouldn’t be too flashy for Marthe, he hoped. He hadn’t seemed like she would have wanted roses when alive or on her grave.

Jerott was sat not very far from Marthe’s grave. All Danny could see of the knight was his cloaked back, and the grave was remarkably simple. There was a lot that he didn’t know about Marthe, but he buried any remaining resentment over her nearly killing him and approached, stepping to the grave and lying the little bouquet of herbs atop the still loose earth. Danny stood still for a few moments, quietly saying a prayer that she might find some peace now, since she had little enough of it the past few years.

When he turned, Jerott was still sitting motionless, his legs crossed, looking down at his hands in his lap. His face was drawn, and pale despite the tan from a life spent often outdoors. There were circles under his eyes, dark purple, while they were red and puffy, and the tightness in his mouth was so different than how Danny was used to seeing him. There was a shadow along his chin as a bard was starting to grow in, more from a lack of care to his appearance rather than a desire to grow a beard if the rumpled state of his clothes was any indication. His hair was mussed as though he had been running his hands through it, and there was still some dampness on his cheeks.

So Danny sat down next to him, and said, “Hello, Jerott.”

“Danny,” Jerott said, his voice rough from emotion or disuse or both. He was still looking towards the grave.

He would have heard apologies already, he would have heard sympathies. Danny reached out a hand anyway, clasping him firmly on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Jerott.”

Jerott shrugged, and blinked heavily. He finally turned to look at Danny, his eyes dark and watery. “I can’t stay here.”

Danny nodded. “Kate and Adam told me you were thinking of going back to Malta.”

“I am,” Jerott said, and swallowed. He looked delicate and breakable despite his strong frame, despite his years of fighting, as though he might shatter at the briefest touch.

“When do we leave?” Danny said, offering a smile he hoped was something close to normal.

That made the tears well up, and he wasn’t sure what to do for a moment as Jerott started to cry.

“It’s alright,” Danny said, moving forward, offering his arms out.

He was a little surprised when Jerott accepted the embrace, grabbing him tightly. Danny was significantly taller than him even if Jerott had far more muscle, so Jerott was able to press his face into Danny’s shoulder and got a firm grip on him as he quietly shook.

Danny didn’t say anything, and just let him cry.

After a few long moments, voice a bit muffled as he spoke into Danny’s shoulder, Jerott said, “I haven’t felt like this since… I’m scared of how bad I feel.”

The first time Jerott had been in love, it had been with a lovely local girl, Elizabeth, who had died of an illness. The next time, it had been Gabriel, who he had helped hunt across Europe and saw him slain. Then Francis, then Marthe, that whole disaster. Danny wasn’t sure how a man could have such bad luck, but Jerott seemed unwilling to enter into casual relationships, and he seemed unable to feel anything lightly.

“I am very happy to keep you company in this,” Danny said. “We’re friends, Jerott, so I am happy to, and besides, Marthe just died. It makes sense you’d be sad.”

Jerott nodded. Quietly, almost hesitantly, he said, “Not that I wish it had been Francis, truly I don’t. But no one else here is sad.”

“You knew her a little better than anyone else here, I think,” Danny said. “But we can leave whenever you’re ready. A familiar place might be a pleasant change.”

Jerott nodded and sat back, wiping at his cheeks. Danny didn’t ask if Malta might not have its own unhappy memories just as Scotland did, since it was plain to his eyes that Jerott needed to run away.

“Have you eaten anything today?” Danny said.

“Not hungry,” Jerott said.

“Well,” Danny said lightly, “I will be hungry in a little bit. I promised Sybilla I would bathe after seeing you, so I’d like to talk with you a little after, if you’re up for it. We can make some plans for Malta, if you like.”

Jerott nodded, and said, “Alright. I’d like that.”

Danny smiled and stood. He knew he was fairly talented at being annoying or offering unwanted suggestions, and that wasn’t what he wanted to do now. He could happily provide conversation as a distraction from grief, though, and that seemed to be what Jerott was looking for.

The knight’s gaze was already drifting back to the grave, so Danny left him for a while longer. He headed back to the keep, and found there was a hot bath waiting for him in the quarters he had been given. He stripped off his travel stained clothes and let himself melt into the water, muscles relaxing as he scrubbed the dirt off.

About an hour later, Danny emerged from his room smelling fresh and in a set of clothes he hadn’t taken from his bags since France. As he turned to make his way down the stairs, he saw Jerott was on his way up. The knight was still pale, his eyes still wet, and Danny was surprised enough that he missed a step and nearly fell into Jerott.

“Careful,” Jerott said, as Danny pulled himself up. Jerott was holding a tray, he saw, with enough for three people on it.

“I hadn’t expected to see you here,” Danny said.

“If you’re not ready yet,” Jerott began, but Danny shook his head.

“I was just coming to find you. I’ve got a nice sitting room off the quarters Sybilla gave me, so we can talk there if you like?” Danny said.

Jerott nodded. He looked more awake than he had earlier, more alive, more animate. Danny stepped lightly up the stairs and didn’t have to look back to know that Jerott was following him.


End file.
